


Wake

by Russ (Quasar)



Series: Time Heals [10]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 14:03:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2071062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quasar/pseuds/Russ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair helps Jim cope with Incacha's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake

**Author's Note:**

> Written March 1998. Takes place after the episode "Warriors."

Jim knew the loft was not empty before he opened the door. "Hey, Chief, what are you making?"

Blair looked up from the kitchen counter. "Hi Jim. Uh, ratatouille."

"Sounds like a martial art," Jim commented, looking over the preparations. Whatever it was seemed to involve lots of chopping and unfamiliar vegetables.

"Funny, man. No, it's vegetable stew. So did the Chopec get off okay?"

"Yeah, the infection in Amo's shoulder was mostly cleared up, and there's a good doctor on board the ship, so they were cleared to leave."

"That's great, man. They took Incacha's body, too?"

"Uh-huh. I also managed to track down the guy who brought them to Cascade and gave them Spalding's picture."

"That's awesome, Jim! Who was it?"

Jim shook his head. "Just some idealistic tree-hugger who actually believed that crazy idea of hauling an oil company president before a tribal judge would do some good. He was going to make a big media splash out of it, drum up some support to save the rainforests. Then when Toren got killed, he panicked and abandoned the Chopec to get by on their own."

"Oh, man." Blair attacked an eggplant with a very large knife.

"The INS is going to charge him with bringing illegal aliens into the country, or whatever it is they object to. But they're not blaming him for Toren's death, since Incacha admitted to that. By the way, the M.E. confirmed that the poison on the arrow shouldn't have killed Toren. It was just a paralytic agent. Unfortunately, Toren had a heart condition. No way Incacha could have known that."

"So that's why they were willing to release his body?"

"Mm. What has that really strong smell?"

Blair surveyed his ingredients. "Uh, probably the fennel. This what you're talking about?" He held out a bowl with something pale green chopped up inside.

Jim turned his head away. "Yeah, that's it. So where were you off to so early this morning? You were already gone when I got up."

"I went to Janet's funeral."

Jim paused in the act of pouring himself some juice. "How was it?"

"It was . . . tough, but I'm glad I went. I spoke to her family -- you know, told them about how I feel kinda responsible."

Jim groaned. "God, Chief, why do you do this to yourself?"

Blair looked up. "Do what?"

"You go to the woman's family when they're grieving and tell them you're responsible for their daughter's death -- they're not exactly going to be supportive of you. You're letting yourself in for a whole world of pain, here."

"No, actually, they were pretty nice. I mean, I didn't talk to her mother -- it was obvious she was in no condition for it. But her fiance really helped me see things a lot clearer."

"Fiance?"

"Yeah, I just found out the other day that she was engaged. Man, it must be awful to lose someone like that, just before . . . but he told me a lot of good stuff. How proud she was of her job, trying to keep Cyclops in line. And how, if she could uncover what they were doing and help to get it stopped . . . well, that was probably a cause she'd be willing to die for. I wish she hadn't, though. If we'd gotten there just a little sooner . . ."

"It wasn't your fault, Chief. It was Yeager that shot her."

"Yeah. Bill said the same thing. And we traded a lot of stories about Janet, too. I told him about that one time, me and her drove down to the anti-nuke rally near Salem? We were driving overnight so we could get there when the rally started in the morning. And in the middle of nowhere on a Sunday night, her old Mustang broke down. Miles from the nearest exit, absolutely no traffic on the highway. Man, we were so upset thinking we were going to miss the rally, and Janet was supposed to give a speech --"

"Could we skip the reminiscences, Chief? I'm not really in the mood. Unless there's some point to what you were saying?"

Blair's eyes flickered upward, large and hurt. "No. No point. I was just talking. What's the matter, man, you jealous?"

"Jealous? Of what?"

"Of Janet. You've been ragging on me ever since you saw me give her a hug."

Jim slammed his empty juice glass onto the counter. "No, I am not jealous of Janet!"

"Man, what is with you today?"

"You want to know what's with me?" Jim yelled. "I'll tell you. Ali told me when they were leaving, I shouldn't worry about Incacha's body not being properly prepared. He said Incacha did all the rituals before they left Peru. He knew he was going to die!"

Blair's eyes widened. "Whoa."

"He came out here on a fucking suicide mission! Incacha stood right there --" he jabbed a finger at the living room "-- and talked to us, and all the time he knew -- he knew it was the last time he would speak to me!"

"That's pretty wild."

"Wild is not the word. Dumb, stupid, idiotic is more like it! How could he --" Jim's voice faltered. "How could he do that to me? Dammit, if he knew what was going to happen, why did he come here?" He headed for the living room, detouring around the couch Incacha had died on to sit on the smaller sofa instead.

Blair stopped chopping and followed, sitting on the coffee table. "He came because he thought it was worth it, Jim. He was fighting for his tribe. Save the rainforest -- it's not just some PC agenda for these people. Incacha was trying to preserve his way of life."

Jim rubbed both hands over his face. "I know. I know that."

"Maybe -- look, Jim. The reason I was telling you that story about Janet was because today, at the funeral -- well, actually at the reception afterwards -- I found that it really helped to talk about her. To remember the good stuff. To remind myself about how she lived instead of how she died. Maybe you should do that for Incacha."

"What do you mean?"

"Tell me about him, man. I barely had the chance to get to know him. What was he like?"

Jim lowered his hands and leaned back against the couch, staring at the rafters. "Incacha was . . . after you, he was probably the smartest man I ever knew. He only spoke one language, he had almost no formal education, but he was still . . . brilliant. He told me once that when he was young there was a teacher that came to Pokaipu -- I don't know, some Peace Corps thing. This teacher tried to get Incacha to go to a white man's school in the city a hundred miles away. He said Incacha was too smart to just stay in the jungle, that if he went to school he could learn new ways to help the tribe. But Incacha just said he was meant to stay with the tribe, and that it was more important for him to study the ways of the shaman."

"Sounds like he knew what he wanted out of life," Blair said slowly.

Jim shook his head. "He was stubborn. He could talk anyone into just about anything. I know . . . I know it was him that made that environmentalist agree to their plan, bring them to Cascade. But the man still should have known better."

"Tell me about when you were in Peru," Blair urged softly.

"Sandburg, you know I can't talk about that. It's classified."

"I'm not talking about your mission. Tell me about Incacha. You already told me a little. You said he guided you, helped you use your senses. How did he do that?"

"I don't know, Chief. He did -- mostly he did the same things you do. He helped me concentrate, taught me how to focus. He always acted like my senses were perfectly natural, never treated me like a freak or anything. He respected me, so the rest of the tribe respected me too. If it hadn't been for Incacha, I might never have gotten them all to cooperate with me. Everything just seemed to -- to fall in place when he was around. Everything worked better."

"Your senses, you mean?"

"I mean everything. I would be having an argument with the chief, or one of the warriors, and Incacha would come by and say just a few words, and next thing we knew we had an agreement. Or I'd be trying to train some of the warriors, and Incacha would show up to watch -- all of a sudden they all concentrated harder, their aim was better. Everything was just easier, it all seemed to come so naturally I hardly even thought about it." Jim looked out the window, idly tracing the movement of boats on the sound. "He had a great sense of humor, too. He loved to laugh. And he loved to play with the children, tell them stories. I think he wasn't supposed to do that. A shaman was supposed to be this mysterious, awesome figure that all the children would be a little frightened of. But Incacha never paid attention to any of that, he just did what he thought was right."

"I dreamed about him," Blair said suddenly.

"About who?"

"Incacha. He was there, in my dream, speaking to me. I couldn't understand him, though." Blair sighed and brushed a strand of hair from his face. "I wish I had written down what he said as soon as I woke up. Then I could look it up or maybe get you to translate for me."

"I seriously doubt you were dreaming in the Chopec dialect of Quechua, Chief."

"Why not?"

"What, you think this was some kind of, of mystical . . . vision or something? That Incacha really was talking to you in your dream?"

Blair shrugged. "Stranger things have happened. Incacha's premonition turned out to be right."

"Maybe it was self-fulfilling. When a man is looking to die, he can usually manage it one way or another."

"I don't buy that. I think Incacha came to Cascade because he thought it was his destiny, and yours."

"Mine?"

"Yeah. You had to save the tribe one last time, and then you could be free to be the Sentinel of the great city." Blair paused. "I think he wanted to meet me, too. I'm his successor as your guide. He had to pass the way of the shaman on to me."

Jim groaned. "Sandburg, you just get weirder and weirder. You don't really believe this stuff, do you?"

Blair stared at him solemnly for a moment, then smiled. "Well, it's a theory. So, you want to help me chop up some of these vegetables?"

Jim levered himself up from the couch and followed his partner into the kitchen. "My knife is at your service. What'd you say this stuff was called, Hong Kong Fuey?"


End file.
